


Steps in Time

by Serenitys_Lady



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 17:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenitys_Lady/pseuds/Serenitys_Lady
Summary: The Ninth Doctor has a secret, one he won’t tell even Rose.





	Steps in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Doctor – If I did, Nine would have been treated better!
> 
> Authors notes: While writing this, I kept hearing Kylarion’s voice with a Scottish accent, so that’s why she’s written that way. My Muse is an odd little thing sometimes.

The final strains of Glenn Miller’s “In The Mood” echoed throughout the control room of the TARDIS, and the Doctor raised Rose up from the dip that ended their dance.  Captain Jack Harkness applauded and Rose giggled as she straightened. 

“Wow!” she said, a little breathless.  “You weren’t kidding.  You really  _do_  have the moves!”

The Doctor grinned and gave a little bow.  Another dance song came on the ship’s sound system.  Rose went to take his hand again, but he stepped away.  “Better give the Captain his dance, Rose.  Wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings, now, wouldya?”

Rose and Jack danced to a few more songs, the Doctor begging off and watching from the pilot’s seat.  Finally, after a particularly energetic jitterbug, Rose declared that she was knackered and headed off to bed, bidding them both good night.

The two men watched as Rose bounced her way down the hall toward her room.  “That’s some girl,” Jack said, whistling softly under his breath.

“You don’t know the half of it,” the Doctor replied, giving him a mock stern look. 

They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then both burst out laughing.  “Come on,  _Captain_ ,” the Doctor said, grinning.  “Let’s get you settled in your room.”

“My room?” Jack asked, surprised.  “I have a  _room_?”

“Of course you do,” the Doctor replied.  “What kind of host would I be, if I didn’t at least make up a bunk for the bloke who saved our lives?!  Besides, Rose would have my head.”

The Doctor led Jack down the hall in the direction Rose took, but much farther down the corridor.  A door stood open, and they stopped, the Doctor indicating for Jack to enter.  Jack stepped inside and was astonished to see a small but well appointed bedroom, decorated in navy and brown, definitely a  _man’s_  room.  But what truly amazed him was the large duffel bag sitting in the middle of the bed.

Jack turned and stared at the Doctor.  “My kit,” he said, his eyes wide.  “That’s my kit!  I thought it was destroyed when my ship blew up!  How did it get here?”

The Doctor just smiled at him and said, “G’night, Jack.  See you in the morning.”

He returned to the control room, his passengers settled for the night.  Walking slowing around the console, he checked the readings on the monitor, and then proceeded to manipulate the necessary switches, dials and levers to put them into drift-mode in the Vortex.  Looking around the room, he sighed and wandered back toward the hall to the living quarters.

Time Lords do not require the amount of sleep that humans do.  But on occasion, they do need to decompress, especially after a particular traumatic or emotional experience.  This was one of those times.

The Doctor entered his bedroom.  It was a simple room, with the most Spartan of furniture.  A large bed took up most of the space, covered in plain earth-toned bedclothes.  Against one wall was a small wooden desk, its surface neat and organized.  On the shelves above it were a few small items, relics of his past generations, most notably a wooden recorder, a cricket bat and a large brown hat.  On the opposite wall stood a wardrobe, with a rod and hangers on the left behind a closed door and a series of drawers on the right. 

Opening the door, he took off his leather jacket and hung it up.  He then sat on the bed and removed his boots.  Lying back, his hands behind his head on the pillow, he stared at the ceiling.  The TARDIS had projected the night sky from the vantage point of his childhood home in the mountains of Gallifrey.  As he lay there, gazing at the stars, he sighed deeply.  His dance with Rose had invoked a memory he had thought long buried.  He closed his eyes, and the images came rushing back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was young.  Oh Rassilon, how young he was!  On break from the Academy, he had gone home to visit his family.  As usually happened, he became quickly disenchanted by the rigid ritualism of his home life, and the emotionless façade he had to adopt.  Late one night, after all the more sensible members of his family had long since retired to their sleeping chambers, he sat alone in his room, staring out the window at the fields and forests that surrounded his family’s estate. 

Suddenly, the urge to escape flooded him and he quickly dressed in an old suit of clothes he found in the back of his wardrobe, left from the last time he had to muck out the stables as punishment for some forgotten infraction.  He crept quietly out of his room and down the back stairs.  Pausing in the kitchen to make sure he was not heard, he opened the back door and raced down the slope toward the fields.

The freedom he felt at being out in the open air and on his own was indescribable.  He looked up at the two moons shining in the night sky, the largest a bright copper disk, and he wondered what lay beyond.  He continued down through the fields, his hands brushing the red grass, his mind wandering as his feet wandered.

He lost track of how long he had been walking when he arrived at the edge of a stand of trees.  Looking behind him, he was amazed to see how far from the estate he had travelled.  These trees, he realized, were the beginning of a small orchard in the south-eastern portion of the grounds.

He continued forward, deeper into the orchard, stopping occasionally to touch the bark of a tree or pluck a leaf to smell the spicy scent.  As he walked, he tried to open his mind and expand his senses, as he had been taught at the Academy.  Gradually, he became aware of something totally incongruous with the natural noises of the night.

A light tinkling sound, almost like raindrops on the silver leaves of the trees, was just barely audible to his enhanced hearing.  Intrigued, he continued on through the rows of flowering trees, the music (if that was what it was) gradually growing more distinct.  Finally, after walking some distance, he came to a clearing in the centre of the grove in which stood a small wooden structure, like a crofter’s cottage.  It was from the open door that the sound emanated.

Cautiously, he approached the front of cottage.  The music was clear, and he was entranced, never having heard anything like it before.  It was so far removed from either the formal string and brass ensemble style that he heard at home or at the Citadel, or the electronically generated sounds popular with his fellow cadets.  This was clean and clear and  _organic_ , he thought to himself.

Peering into the entrance, he scanned the scene, taking in the details.  There was a fireplace at the far end, which gave off a generous amount of light and heat.  A table and chairs stood to one side, and it was on this table that he discovered the origin of the sounds that had drawn him.

Sitting on the table was a box, a wooden box with a large metal cylinder with small pins covering its surface.  As the cylinder rotated, the pins plucked what looked like hundreds of tiny teeth that sat on a plate at the base of the box.  As these pins moved over the teeth, a tone was produced that together created the most delightful melodies and harmonies.

But, as taken as he was by the product of the musical box, what captivated him was the young woman who stood with her back to the door in the centre of the room, swaying to the music, her long braid, the colour of burnished copper that rivalled the Gallifreyan night sky, swinging to and fro as she moved.

She was about his age and shorter than he was.  Her pale skin shone in the firelight.  She was not unnaturally slim, like the girls at the Academy, but was well proportioned and, well, just beautiful, he blushed to think.  He stared, hovering in the doorway.  Stared in wonder at the intricate patterns she seemed to be making with her feet and hands.

Suddenly, she made a turn and came face to face with him.  Startled, she dropped her arms and planted her feet.  “Rassilon, but you gave me a fright!” she exclaimed.

He quickly apologized.  “I’m sorry!  I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to.  Well, does anyone ever  _really_  mean to?  I mean, I suppose they could, but, but why?”  He stammered and stuttered in embarrassment at getting caught observing her.

“Well, are you gonna just stand there gapin’ at me, or are you gonna come in?” she said, amused at his discomfiture.

“Uh, I guess I’m coming in,” he said, a little bewildered.  He took the few steps necessary and entered the cottage.

“So,” she said.  “Why were you hidin’ there outside, watchin’ me?  It’s rude and not a little bit suspicious.”

“Oh,” he replied quickly.  “I wasn’t watching you.  At least not at first.  I heard the music, you see.  It’s beautiful.  How is it made?”

She softened at his obvious innocence.  Taking his hand, she walked them over to the table.  She turned the machine off and said, “It’s a music box.  Haven’t you ever seen a music box before?”

He picked up the wooden box and turned it over in his hands.  “No,” he said, with wonder in his voice.  “They would never have anything so primitive at home.”  He handed it back to her, afraid of damaging it.

The girl looked at him quizzically.  “Ah,” she said, deducing the situation.  “You’re from up the hill, aren’tcha?”

The young man blushed and turned away.  “Does it matter?” he asked downcast.

“Not to me,” she answered sweetly.  “I’m Kylarion, by the way.  I’m the arborist’s daughter.”  She held out her hand.  “And who might you be?”

He looked at her in awe.  She didn’t seem at all put off at their obvious class difference.  “Theta Sigma,” he said simply, shaking her hand.

“Ohhh,” she grinned.  “A Time Lord.  Escaped from the Academy, have ya?”

He dropped her hand, ashamed that her jest had hit far too close to home.  “Just home for a visit, is all,” he said, shortly.

“Sorry,” she said quickly.  “I didn’t mean anything by it.  So,  _Theta Sigma_ …

“Don’t!  Don’t do that!” he cried, bounding up from the chair.  “Don’t call me that.  That’s what  _they_  call me.”  Something inside him snapped and he began to pace.  “I’m not like them.  I hate it!  I hate their smug superiority.  It’s not who I am!”

She got up, walked over to him and, stopping him with a hand on his forearm, said quietly, “So, who are you then?”

He stilled at the touch of her hand and turned, looking down at her.  Her clear green eyes conveyed a deep concern that touched his hearts.  “Theta,” he said quietly.  “Just Theta.”

“Well then.  You can call me Kyla.  All my friends do.”

Shyly, he said, “Are  _we_  friends, Kyla?”

“Oh, aye, Theta,” she replied with a soft smile.  “We are most definitely friends.”

Kyla and Theta spent another hour sitting at the table talking.  She showed him how the music box worked: the cranking mechanism that turned the main cylinder and how that cylinder could be changed for others with different melodies.  He was fascinated by the simplicity of the design and the beauty of the sounds it produced. 

But what fascinated him more was Kyla herself.  He had never met anyone as open and sincere.  She talked animatedly and gestured in kind.  Her hands were particularly expressive, and she often touched his arm or shoulder as she spoke.  At first, he was very uncomfortable.  Unnecessary touching was discouraged at the Academy, and his family were nothing if not strict adherents to Time Lord custom. 

So when Kyla, after cranking the music box and setting it on the table, grabbed his hands, swung him around and began to move in rhythm to the music, he immediately pulled away and stepped back, unnerved.  Kyla stopped and said to him, “Theta?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he stammered, looking pale.  “I just realized how late it was.  I really should get back before they noticed I’m gone.”

She realized, too late, his distress, and rightly deduced its origins.  She turned the music off again and said quietly to him, “We can’t have ya getting’ into trouble now.  How could ya come back if you were busy mucking out the stables again?”  She grinned, indicating she had noticed his clothes.

He blushed again, but felt a smile creeping up on his face.  “ _Should_  I come back, Kyla?” he asked.

“I’m hopin’ ya will.”

“Then it’s settled.  I’ll try again tomorrow night.”  Theta walked toward the door, but turned back and said, “Thank you, Kyla.”

She shooed him out the door.  “Get yourself back home, ya daft thing.  I’ll see ya when I see ya!”

Theta walked quickly back through the orchard and the fields, whistling the music box tune as he went.  Arriving at the manor, he snuck back in, just in time to avoid the house staff beginning their duties.  Stripping off the old clothes and hiding them carefully in his wardrobe, he put on his sleeping garments and climbed into bed.  He knew he wouldn’t get much sleep, but also knew it was worth it. 

Over the next few weeks, Theta managed to feign interest in family activities, going so far as to engage his father in a conversation about his course of study at the Academy.  By playing the dutiful son during the day, he was able to slip out and meet Kyla in the orchard at night.

Most of the time, they just sat in the cottage, listening to the music box and talking.  At first he was afraid to tell her about the terrible things that he suffered at the Academy, or his doubts about the vision that the Time Lords had for the future.  He was afraid she would find out what a coward he was, the darkness he felt inside him, and his desire to run away, a feeling he had had since the day he was forced to look into the Untempered Schism. 

But she listened without judgment.  And he was relieved and comforted.

Over the course of their meetings, Kyla had gradually gotten Theta accustomed to being touched.  She would hold his hand, pat his arm or stroke his cheek lightly with her finger.  Often, they would sit outside under the trees and listen to the breeze blowing gently through the leaves.  He would point out the stars and tell her all he had learn about them and Gallifrey’s two moons. 

One night, just before he was due to return to the Academy, they were sitting in their usual position, his arm at her waist and her head on his shoulder.  They had been there for quite a while when Kyla said, “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”  When he did respond, she sat up and looked at him.  “You’re goin’ back, aren’tcha?”

Theta looked down at the ground.  “I don’t want to.  But I have to.”

She knelt in front of him and, putting her hand on his knee, she said, “Good.” 

“Good?  Are you tired of me already?”  He tried to make a joke of it, to hide his anguish at having to leave her and return to the Academy .

“Listen to me.  There’s somethin’ special about you, Theta.”  He looked away from her.  “You’ve got a destiny and the Academy’s where you’re meant to be.”

“But I hate it there!”

She smiled at him.  “Destiny’s never easy.  It’s never comfortable and it’s never peaceful.”  She leaned in closer to him and said, “There’s somethin’ very important you’re supposed to do.”

“All I want to  _do_  is survive, graduate and get the hell out.”

Kyla reached out and put her hand on his cheek.  “You’ll do more than survive, Time Lord.  You’ll be great.  It’s your destiny!”  She laughed and stood up.  “Come on.”  Grabbing his hands, she pulled him up and started back toward the cottage.  “I want you to do somethin’ for me.”

“Anything,” he replied, laughing along with her as she dragged him through the door.

She picked up the music box and turned the crank.  Setting it down, she turned back to him and held out her hand.  “Dance with me,” she said softly.

Theta didn’t move.  He had watched her dance on several occasions, but had never joined her, content to observe the beautiful movements she made with her hands and body.  The thought of him spoiling the grace of her dance with his awkward and ungainly steps made him reluctant.  But she was insistent.  Taking his hand, she led him to the centre of the room and began the patterns he remembered from observing her.

Slowly, with gentle encouragement and subtle direction, she eased his self-consciousness and drew him in.  They started slowly, him following her steps at first, and then gradually adding his own.  They moved around each other, their hands touching.  Then their steps widened the gap and they danced separately.  But each series of movements brought them closer to each other until, finally, the music ended with him holding her at the waist and her hands entwined around his neck.

The music box went silent, but neither Kyla nor Theta noticed.  They stood, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes.  Slowly, he dipped his head and brushed his lips lightly across hers.  It was the most innocent of kisses, but it spoke volumes.

Kyla was the first to react.  She stepped away from him and smiled.  Taking him by the hand, she led him to the door and gently pushed him out.  “Better be goin’ now,” she said softly.

Theta knew she was right, although everything in him cried out to stay.  “Am I ever going to see you again?” he asked.

“If I’m lucky.”

He left the next day.

It was months before he was able to get back.  He wrote to her often, telling her everything about his life at the Academy.  He knew she couldn’t write back, but he was content, just being able to put his thoughts and feelings down and share them with someone he knew understood.

Arriving home, Theta endured the family rituals and welcoming meal, resenting every minute he was forced to wait before he could meet Kyla.  When he was finally released, he quickly snuck away from the manor and down the slope to the orchard.

As he ran, he pulled something out of his pocket, wrapped in purple cloth.  He gently pulled the cloth aside and looked at the object.  A large stone of iridescent lavender chalcedony lay in the palm of his hand.  He had discovered it one day on a field trip with his geology class and hid it in his room, slowly and carefully cutting and polishing it into an eight centimetre cabochon.  Taking some thin platinum wire he “appropriated” from the electronics lab, he fashioned a delicate wire cage in which the stone would rest.  He hung it from a silver chain and placed it in the cloth, hiding it away until he could return to the cottage in the orchard. 

As he approached the clearing, he immediately sensed that something was very wrong.  No music played.  Kyla was not at the door waiting for him.  Filled with a deep foreboding, he walked through the door and stopped.

It was empty.

Well, not quite empty.  On the table was the music box and an envelope with his name on it.  Running over, he picked up the envelope, tore it open, and took out the single sheet of paper.  Standing in silence, he read:

**_My dearest Theta,_ **

**_If you are reading this, then you know I’ve gone.  My father arranged a match for me with the captain of a transport ship. He’s a good man and he will give me a good life.  Please be happy for me.  At least I’m finally going to see the stars you taught me about._ **

**_I knew before you left for the Academy, but didn’t say anything to you, because I didn't  want to spoil our remaining time together.  It was selfish of me, I know.  I thought I would be saving you from pain. But as I write this, and feel the ache in my own heart, I realize that not being able to say goodbye to you in person is much worst.  I just hope you can forgive me._ **

**_Our separation is for the best.  Deep down in your hearts, I think you know that.  They would never have allowed us to be together.  After all, you’re a Time Lord and I’m just the girl who picks the fruit.  And staying on Gallifrey, knowing you were here somewhere, would have been too much to bear.  So I’m going to the stars, and I will remember you on every planet I step foot on, every moon I pass, and every bright star in the galaxy._ **

**_Please don’t grieve.  I told you before.  You are special.  You are destined to do great things.  Don’t let this momentary pain stop you from being who you were meant to be.  Remember me and our time together, and draw strength and courage from the love we shared.  I do love you, you daft thing.  That will never change.  You are my best friend._ **

**_I am leaving you the music box.  Please, please, Theta.  Promise me that you will dance.  Dance often and dance joyfully.  Remember me in this way, as I will you._ **

**_I know you’re hurting now.  But believe me when I tell you that the pain will pass with time.  And time, after all, is what you Time Lords do best._ **

**_I love you, Theta.  Be happy.  For me, be magnificent._ **

**_Kyla._ **

He never saw her again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He completed the Academy.  He married the woman his family had arranged for him.  He had even performed the ritual “Dance of the Convergence of Energies” at his wedding.  But he never, ever danced, truly danced, again.

Oh, that’s not to say that he never took the occasional turn around the dance floor.  He did, and he would again.  It was usually a rather pleasant experience.  But it was different.  That was just bodies in motion.  He never danced with his hearts, and he couldn't imagine ever doing so again.  Not even with Rose, and she was someone he was coming to care a great deal about.  It was just too personal.

The Doctor slowly opened his eyes and sat up.  He got off the bed and walked over to the wardrobe.  Taking a small key out of his pocket, he unlocked the bottom drawer, and took out two items.  Carrying them across the room, he set them on the desk and sat down.  Slowly turning the handle, he wound up the music box and softly its music filled the room. 

He turned to the second object, and carefully unwrapped the ancient, worn fabric.  He picked up the lavender stone in its delicate platinum cage.  Holding it in his large, rough hand, he thought about the boy he had been and the man he had become.   ** _The Oncoming Storm.  The Destroyer of Worlds_.**   Tears fell  slowly down his cheeks.  He hoped she would forgive him. 

He sat there until the music died.  Then, wiping his eyes, he returned his precious mementos to their hiding place.  He put on his boots and grabbed his jacket, his armour against his emotions.  He returned to the control room and stepped up to the console.

“Okay, old girl.  Where shall we go to next?”


End file.
